When I Get Where I'm Going
by Luvergirl of Books
Summary: It wasn't that surprising that Halt had never thought much about his death. He really hadn't a need to. But oh, he was thinking about death now; more than he ever had before.


It wasn't very surprising that Halt had never thought much about his death. He really hadn't a need to. Sure, there was the occasional mission, but none were quite bad enough to really think about dying—except, of course, when they were chasing Tennyson and that poison crossbow bolt hit him. And even then, he was too doped-up to think about much of anything.

But, oh, he was thinking about death now. More than he ever had before.

It all started with the tip of a dagger dropped accidentally into a miniscule puddle of slow-acting, torturous poison. And that was enough.

_At least I have the comfort of knowing where I'm going when I do die_, Halt thought silently.

The man to whom the dagger belonged wasn't that bad of a person—to begin with. But after losing his parents in a bad carriage accident when he was just a boy, little Darrel Sanden had wandered into a bad neighborhood, and the residents were the absolute scum of the earth. It was their fault, really; though Sanden had been taught right from wrong, it was hard to listen to your developing conscience when everybody around you is in the wrong. And Sanden had been just a boy; he stood no chance whatsoever.

But that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is how he ended up. This man was finally getting away from this bad town, but had not quite dispelled all of its teachings.

Sanden had been leaving the town on the day that he died.

Shoulders were bumped unintentionally, a few angry words were said, and weapons were drawn. In the end, one man was left wounded with a knife protruding from low in his stomach. The other man sustained painful stab wounds to the throat and armpit in the act of defense, left dead on the sidewalk in a swelling lake of blood.

Two guesses as to whom died. I'll give you a hint: it was Sanden. No need to guess. This is no time for games.

But what Sanden hadn't known is that in his former home in that horrible town, his—well, we'll call him a roommate—had been illegally mixing a poison. After this poison had been made and as it was being packed away, some of the toxin had dribbled down the bottle and onto the table.

Sanden's roommate had neglected to mop up the small pool of liquid. And when the dagger had slipped from Sanden's hand as he was sheathing it to leave forever, the very tip had fell just barely onto the poison. What luck, right?

_When I go to meet my maker, I don't know what I'm going to do first. Maybe find a lion and run my fingers through its mane while it sits so solemn. Maybe I'll sit in a drop of rain as it plummets. Maybe I'll just fly awhile._

The dagger had been extracted carefully and the wound immediately bandaged. Somehow, Malcolm was there. Halt had no idea how he had gotten here so fast; the healer may have already been in the area, or had ridden day and night with Will like the last time he had seen the small, pleasant man—there was no telling.

Halt heard him talking. "There's a slow-acting poison, too," Malcolm said. "It must have been on the dagger. But we have a bigger problem." When the healer was asked about the problem, he responded by saying, "It's the combination—the stab wound and the poisoning. We can't treat them both at the same time. If we deal with the poison first, the antidote will contaminate the dagger laceration, eventually causing an infection in the wound. There would be no chance of survival at that point.

"But if we treat the stab wound first, we would need to give it time to scab over and start healing. That would give time for the poison to spread. If we give the antidote too soon, it will still infect the wound that didn't have enough time to heal enough. If we don't give it soon enough, the poison will have spread too far, and it would be too late to save him."

_When I get where I'm going, I'm going to find Caitlyn, and I'm going to walk and talk with her, just like we used to. And we're going hug each other and cry to each other. I can love her face-to-face again._

By unanimous decision, it was determined that the stab wound would be treated first. Everyone agreed that there was a better chance of survival that way. The salves and stitches were issued immediately.

_But once I get there, the only crying will be tears of joy._

Everyone took turns with a watch, usually two to four people there at a time. It was just another example of how much of a family they all were. A crazy, dysfunctional family, but always a family.

_When I reach heaven, I'll be able to see my Maker's face, and I can be in His light forever, bathed in His grace and love. And in this light I will wait patiently for the coming of the people I love—though, hopefully, they'll take their sweet time._

With deep sadness in his eyes, Malcolm addressed them all, but looked straight at Halt. "I'm sorry," he said, "but he's not going to make it." In a softer tone, he spoke directly to Will and Halt, who were closest to their dying friend, and had been closest the entire time he was in pain. "Spend the time with him that you can."

Both Will and Halt looked down to the ground at Gilan when he let loose a hacking cough. The poison had already traversed the young Ranger's lungs, and was en route to his heart and brain. "No need to pretend like I'm not going to die," Gil said in a voice that, although soft, was shockingly clear. "Save me my dignity."

For one of the few times in his life, Halt felt the salty tears course freely down his cheeks at fate being phrased so bluntly. He knew that Will had been silently weeping just as he was for a while now. Will didn't waste any time. "I love you so much, Gil. Too much to ever let you go." Will's voice, contrary to Gilan's, was strained and hitched.

Gil just gave the younger man a weak, loving smile. "I love you, too, just as much. All of you. This isn't meant to be cliché, but it's true, and if I could phrase it in other words, I would. But I can't—I can only say that I love you. More than you could ever imagine."

Everyone nodded, though no one noticed the simultaneity.

Gil felt so many sets of eyes on him; Will, Halt, Horace, Alyss, Jenny…and more. "I'm going to wait for you all," he wheezed in an increasingly weakening voice. "In heaven, I'll wait for each and every one of you." He locked his gaze with Halt's. "But don't rush for me."

Gilan's eyes were set and determined. In a lower, feebler voice, he said so quietly that the two Rangers had to lean in to hear him. "Halt, Will, just know that I'm waiting for you."

This entire time, Halt had watched his former apprentice's eyes; even near death, those eyes had refused to dim, continuing to shine bright. In the aftermath of the young man's final words, Halt continued to watch as Gil's glistening eyes were slowly drained of life. With one final relieved breath, Gilan simply died right in front of Halt's eyes.

No one knew what to do except to grieve and lament and weep. Halt was vaguely aware of some of the others—who hadn't been blessed with quite the relationship that he and Will had shared with Gilan—lending them a comforting hand on the shoulder for brief moments. They all felt the sorrow, but Will and Halt were the last to leave the body of their beloved, cherished, extraordinary friend.

_I know you'll be waiting for me, son_, Halt thought. _And I wait with bated breath for the day I can see you again. It just can't come soon enough_.

_Finis_

**A/N:** Ah, you thought I was going to kill Halt off, didn't you? Nope! I murdered GILAN!

I got my inspiration for this story while listening to Brad Paisley's _When I Get Where I'm Going_, hence the title. Tell me what you think!


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